


there's a certain thrill

by zweebie



Series: the inaugural class of the umbrella academy [3]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I just want him to be happy okay, Klaus is adorable, Light Angst, Pre-Canon, gen - Freeform, happy and rolling in fur jackets and feather boas, he's not in this fic a huge amount i just hate him, quite a bit shorter than my usual fics, reginald hargreeves can go jump out a window, sorry about that, this is set in 2002 so they're twelve years old
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-10 19:06:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18414041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zweebie/pseuds/zweebie
Summary: “Last time you were this quiet we were twelve. Ran down the stairs wearing Grace’s heels, tripped over and broke your jaw.”OR, Klaus experiments with his clothes. Also, he dies. Sort of.





	there's a certain thrill

The third time Klaus gets yelled out of Allison’s room, he realizes he’s going to have to find somewhere else to go. It’s not that he’s doing anything weird in there, or that he’s not happy in his own jail-cell-looking bedroom. It’s just, holy shit, her closet.

Klaus doesn’t know where she gets all of the stuff. The dresses, the flowy skirts. Even scarfs, boots, jewelry. Klaus knows that she uses her ability sneaks out of the house sometimes, runs off to frolic through the city.  _ I heard a rumor you think I’m in my room. I heard a rumor you’re very, very tired, and can’t check on all of us tonight.  _ Klaus envies her, her power, her clear, haughty belief in herself. Klaus tries his best to project that—leaning back in his chair at school, swinging a leg (or two) onto the coffee table on Sundays during their half hour break. Hell, Klaus thinks he’s pretty good at it; maybe that’s just who he is. When he feels worthless, he cracks a joke. When he’s imagining what it would be like to be a normal kid, he laughs. And when the ghosts break that barrier and crowd too close, tearing at him with smokey hands, screaming through torn throats—well, Klaus goes to Allison’s closet.

There’s a certain thrill that Klaus gets in draping a feather boa across his shoulders. A joy in feeling the silk of a dress on his legs. It isn’t that Klaus wants to be a girl. But when he dresses up like one, or partly like one, it’s like he isn’t Number Four anymore. He isn’t the seance, the boy who can talk to ghosts. He’s just Klaus Hargreeves.

Stripping himself of the past is impossible, but that’s not stopping Klaus from trying. But now he’s exiled from Allison’s room. (It’d sounded so quiet, and he thought it was empty, but no, Luther was in there, and as much as Klaus loved love—he hoped to have some himself one day—he just didn’t know about this. Luther was Allison’s  _ brother _ . And it got in the way of Klaus’s fashion endeavors, because he definitely doesn’t want to accidentally interrupt anything.) Now he needs to find somewhere else to go.

Vanya’s room isn’t really an option, Klaus soon discovers. Klaus likes Vanya, and he goes to her sometimes after the mausoleum, when he can’t bear to be alone. She plays for him. It’s beautiful. But the problem isn’t that he doesn’t like her. The problem isn’t that she doesn’t like him, either. Vanya would never yell Klaus out of her room, but her closet just isn’t. . .what he’s looking for. She’s got less school uniforms than the rest of them (and no domino mask) but they’re almost all she wears. Unlike Klaus, Vanya seems to want to be part of the academy. He would tell her what it’s really like, being trained, being isolated, being tortured, but she never asks.

She owns one blue button down and a pair of black pants, but Klaus knows he can’t wear that. The blue wouldn’t flatter his complexion at all, and the clothes are just too similar to their uniform for his liking. The Umbrella Academy isn’t what he wants to be reminded of when he dresses up.

He only realizes Grace has a closet days later, when he sees her coming out of it in the morning. He’d woken up early, heart pounding, flush with cold sweat, the pleas of the dead still lingering in his ears. He’d wanted comfort, or maybe just some food, but even their robot mother wasn’t up yet. Her closet, as it turns out, is behind a small door leading off of the kitchen. Klaus turns on all the lights and keeps his eyes wide open. He would walk down with Ben—the ghosts are always hungrier when he’s alone—but he can’t risk dear old Reggie finding out about this and putting a stop to it. Everyone is used to Klaus doing small things—painting his nails, experimenting with Allison’s makeup—and the old man can’t stop it if he can’t find the source. But if he catches Klaus sneaking around in the early hours of the morning, who knows what he’ll do?

Actually, Klaus knows. He’ll have to go to the mausoleum again, and Klaus can’t risk that.

The door blends almost into the wall, but the hinges glow blue when Klaus presses the button behind the cupboard. The door swings inwards. And christ on a cracker, but it’s wonderful. A recharging station, a sewing kit, and balls of yarn fill one corner, as well as what looks like a first-aid kit. The other side is lined with neatly pressed polka-dot skirts, pinafores, corsets, white button downs, blue fifties-style dresses. They aren’t really Klaus’s  _ style,  _ but there’s something delightfully timeless about all of Grace’s outfits.

The heels, though,  _ the heels. These  _ Klaus can do something with.

* * * * *

There’s something magical, powerful, about wearing high heels. When the dark creeps in and the voices of the dead became a suffocating cacophony, they aren’t helpful, exactly. But in the daylight, where the only chatter is that of his sibling and the only monster stays in his lair (Lair:  _ noun. Reginald Hargreeves’s study) _ , they make Klaus feel like he can kick some demon ass. It’s a nice feeling, one he doesn’t have often.

Soon, they become a normal thing. Like the eyeliner, or the painted nails. Diego gives him a disgusted look when he passes him down the hall one evening (“You like them? I feel like they really improve my figure,” Klaus says, pirouetting for him. “You’re a moron,” Diego spits back). The other siblings don’t say anything, just mark it down as some more of Klaus’s normal behavior. They seem to be suffering under the inexplicable delusion that Klaus is as straight as the stick of the umbrella on their forearms. They all just assume that it’s one of his ways of getting under dear old daddy’s skin. 

They all do it—little things to get under their father’s skin. Allison had been wearing slightly more eyeshadow each day, Ben refused to unleash the Horror whenever he could, and Five fought with Reginald weekly. It was only Luther and Vanya that never stood up to him. Luther because he was thick enough to worship their abuser, and Vanya because she. . .well. Klaus hadn’t ever seen her speak up to anyone.

In reality, Klaus tries his best never to let Reginald see him in the heels. The painted nails, the eyeliner—they’re all subtle things. But the one time Klaus accidentally leaves the shoes on when he goes to Reginald’s study, Reginald didn’t exactly react benevolently. You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears.

“What in Hell do you think you’re doing, Number Four?”

Klaus had flinched as if his father had hit him.

“Take those blasted things off at once!”

Without replying more than a mumbled “Yes, sir,” Klaus stumbled to the bathroom and threw up. He hadn’t been to the mausoleum in weeks, but he still had nightmares about it. The cold, rough ground beneath him as the dead threw themselves at him. As they screamed for help. As he sobbed  _ I can’t help you, I can’t—I can’t help, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, no no no no  _ until he couldn’t even feel the tears. He’d sworn never to go back, and he couldn’t slip up and give Dad an excuse to lock him up now.

Klaus let out a weak laugh. That was the first time he’d accidentally (unironically) thought of him as  _ Dad  _ instead of Reginald in almost a year.  _ Dear old Dad. How they all loved him. _

Klaus’s hands were shaking.

* * * * *

Even afterwards, Klaus can’t remember where the man had come from. One second the stairway is clear, and Klaus is rushing down it late for breakfast. The next, there’s a man standing in front of him. His collar is open, exposing a gruesome slit across his throat.

Here’s the thing, though—Klaus is used to the ghosts, and his steps only falter for a second.

But then (and Klaus sees it with his own eyes, he’s not making excuses) Klaus’s foot catches around the ankle of the ghost. He feels himself topple forward, and he reaches forward to catch himself, but there’s nothing to catch.

Klaus hears someone yell his name as he falls, and then the world switches off.

* * * * *

The world’s gone colorless. Either that, or the world is colourful in a way that Klaus can’t understand. Klaus is between the aisles of a huge department store, like one from the imagination of a kid that’s never seen one. The walls stretch up thirty feet above his head, and they’re lined all the way up with the purple jackets of the umbrella academy. Except that here, they aren’t quite purple. Maybe they’re gray. Maybe they’re not. 

_ This feels like a philosophical thing.  _ Their tutor would love it. Klaus can just imagine him strutting through these halls. He and their father have that in common—they strut everywhere, like peacocks, but without the pretty feathers. It’s infuriating.

“Infuriating,” he mumbled to himself. Klaus hasn’t seen anyone yet; it seems like he’s alone. Klaus takes a few steps along the row of jackets, heel-toe, heel-toe. “It’s very interesting to look at the colors,” he says, tapping a finger on his chin the way their tutor always does. “You can really see what the artist is thinking. Is this about life? Death? Or is it something else?” Klaus giggles to himself. He arches an eyebrow and opens his mouth to continue, but he’s cut off by a voice.

“Oh. It’s you.” A girl, a little bit older than him, is standing behind him. She’s wearing one of the same colorless jackets that are on display, and there’s a nametag clipped on her chest pocket, but Klaus can’t quite read it.

“Who are you?” Klaus isn’t quite sure how to react. “Where am I, exactly?”

The girl pulls a little spiral-bound notebook from her breast pocket. Flipping it open, she says “Fell down the stairs, did you? Pity.” Her face suggests she doesn’t have any of that for  _ him.  _ “Oh,  _ that’s  _ quite interesting.” She flips the notebook closed and looks up at him. Her eyes are wide and young, but there’s something behind them that chills Klaus. And it takes a lot to chill Klaus, considering his ‘special talents.’

“I don’t think you’ll be staying here for long,” the girl says.

“Wait! Where—how—”

“I think you should try that one on. It suits you much better.” The girl points at one of the jackets down the row. It’s the only concrete thing he’s seen—it’s the navy of the umbrella academy instead of the strange colorlessness that he sees everywhere else.

Klaus looks down and sees that he’s in one of the colorless jacks form the aisles, just like the girl. “But, I—” he says, still confused as hell.

“The changing rooms are just down the hall to the left, past the turtles, and straight through the trees.”

“No, no, that’s fine,” Klaus says, bewildered. As if in a dream, he walks down the aisle and takes the jacket off the hanger. Hanging up his own on the same wire triangle, he pulls the school uniform on over his newly starched shirt (is it white? Grey? red?). “Yeah, um, it fits perfec—” Klaus turns around, but the girl is ( _ poof!)  _ gone. “Poof,” he says, testing the word on his tongue. He laughs.

Klaus doesn’t think that the mirror on the wall was there a moment ago, but it’s just the right height for him, even though he’s the tallest of his siblings.

Klaus looks at the mirror. The jacket really is a perfect fit.

* * * * *

Klaus gasps awake to the sight of Ben hovering over him. Five, Vanya, Diego and Allison are just behind. They’ve all got this fish-like expression—wide eyes, round mouths. It’s  a moment before Klaus notices the tears. “What’s—” he starts to say, and then he claps a hand to his mouth. That only makes the pain worse, though, and he doubles over, whimpering and barely missing Ben, who jumps back. 

The view is familiar—Klaus is in the infirmary bed.

He thinks back, trying desperately to grasp onto the quickly-disappearing memories, but they rush away before he can get a proper hold. It’s like trying to catch running water in his hands.

Ben’s face breaks into a grin, and Diego bursts into tears. Klaus doesn’t want them to know how much it hurts, so he grins back. There’s definitely something wrong with his jaw, but the pain isn’t so bad, really. “Aw, you guys were worried about me, weren’t you?”

“You had no pulse!” Vanya exclaims, at the same time as Allison says “Are you kidding me? Of course we were.”

Diego and Ben reply by rolling their eyes, but Klaus reaches up to cup their faces with his hands. “Take your time,” he says with a small amount of pain, “I love you, but if you can’t say it back,” Klaus puts his free hand over his heart, “I understand.”

“You’re a f-f. . .a fucking idiot,” Diego says, laughing a little and wiping away tears. Ben grins.

They part, and Grace leans down to touch a finger to his jaw. “You’ll be okay, but no more talking for you,” she says cheerily, a poster-ready smile painted over her face. “Now, go to sleep if you want. You need to rest.”

Klaus does.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! ever since Diego talked about smol klaus running around in grace's heels i've been obsessed with the idea, so this was so fun to write. please leave a comment and/or kudos if you liked it!!


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